


(Un)American Gods

by Sidrisa



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, nothing happens but you can extrapolate if you wanna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidrisa/pseuds/Sidrisa
Summary: Loki is in want of a new apprentice. He, however, is wildly unimpressed by his supplicants.Until he hears you.





	(Un)American Gods

**Author's Note:**

> OH MY GLOB! I've written something not of 1000 Points of Light???  
> WHAT IS THIS?

##  _**Louisiana 1823** _

This is...unexpected, you think, wondering if you should kneel in supplication or or reach for Mama’s pistol. It only has one bullet in it, and it’s supposed to be for you.

 _Don’t let ‘em take you girl._..

You think better of it.

What can a bullet do to a god?

**

“You are..not one of mine.” You finally say, unaware of what to make of him. Your first instinct is fear, he wears the skin of your enemies, pale face and cold eyed, but he doesn’t regard you with the cruelty of a slave catcher.

“Does it matter?” He asks smoothly. “I’m the only one who’s answered.”

It’s true, a full day of wailing and fasting and praying so hard and all it’s gotten you was a tear streaked face and bloody feet. 

Nobody answered. Not one orisha. Not even the Master’s god who talked all the time about vengeance being his. 

Just him.

“Can you do what I ask?”

The pale god with the green eyes and the smile that reminds of you mama’s tales of Anansi, offers you his hand.

And you take it.

**

Bitter, bitter, bone crunching cold is the first thing you notice.

Then you notice the gold. More gold than was in master’s china cabinet or the overseers teeth when he grinned, curling the whip like an artist curls a brush. 

A city of gold. 

“Where are we?” You ask through chattering teeth.

“Home.” He answers simply. “Asgard.”

“Georgia?” You ask dumbly knowing it doesn’t snow like this in Georgia.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No.” He makes his way toward a big house that would shame even the richest and greediest of the cane planters.

You stop, cold and contusion making you unable to follow.

“I don’t understand. Why am I here? This isn’t what I asked! I wanted-”

“You asked for deliverance from your enemies.” He stretches his arms wide to encompass the city of gold. “You are delivered.”

“I wanted revenge too!”

“Specify order of importance next time.” He shrugs.

He keeps walking but stops when he finds you won’t follow.

“Take me back. I don’t belong here.”

He groans and rakes his fingers down his face. You’re nothing. You’re an inconvenience, you're dust, but you don’t know he needs you more than you need him.

And when he found you, you needed him pretty dire.

“Listen. There is nothing left for you there. They killed or captured your whole community. No one you know or love is left alive. But I can take you back, if you wish, to your mythical North where you and your descendants and their descendants can live under the simulacrum of freedom. Or I can teach you what I know and hone what you already know. The choice is yours.”

“It was yours too. Why me?”

“I am a god, we are capricious things.”

“You’re lying.” You counter immediately, noting how his ice rimmed gaze softened into something vaguely resembling tenderness.

He howls with laughter conceding the point. “And  _that’s_ why, my darling. That’s exactly why.”

He stops and fixes you with a gaze that might set your soul on fire if the slave catchers didn’t already kill it. 

Still, you feel the spark.

“Because your mother’s gifts shouldn’t languish.”

You gasp softly, feeling the heft of the iron pistol she left you. “You know of the godspeekers?”

“I”m a god and you’re speaking to me, so naturally.” His smile returns, grin making spider legs appear in the corners of his eyes.

Your mother taught you to read in the dust of your hearth. And with that dust, she also taught you how to speak to the spirits. How to read them, understand them, bind the lesser of them, and in times of need, ask the greater of them for their help.

“Tick tock, decide or you’ll freeze soon.”

He’s right, you’ve stopped shivering a while ago. 

“Your people. Are they like you?”

“Oh. No one is like  _me_  darling.”

“I mean do they all look like you? Will they hate me?”

He shrugs. “If they do, that’s their problem, not yours, and certainly not mine.” 

He waves off your concern as if the violent order of your life until this point was no more significant than the ash and bone dust he found you in. 

“Though,” His voice drops, colder than the snow that swirls around you both. “If they do make it a problem for you, they’ll have to answer to me.” 

He moves to turn back to the golden big house when you shout for him one last time.

“So what do I call you? Master?”

He grimaces, shaking his head. “Though I am to teach you and though you will be my apprentice, fond as I am of the designation-academically and otherwise-it seems a bit inappropriate for this particular situation. Don’t you think?”

You glare, assured icicles have started to form in your hair. He finds your murderous stare hilarious. “Oh I knew I’d like you. Fine then. You, and only you, may call me by my name.

“Loki.”

**Author's Note:**

> I currently have no plans to follow up.  
> Show this some love and that undoubtedly will change.


End file.
